Present Danger
by SpaceAnJL
Summary: Why you should never take food from the SCU fridge...
1. Present Danger

-a fluffy not-too-far-in-the-future fic-

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Present Danger

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Jane's birthday has occasioned a bit of a flap amongst the team. He's difficult to buy for, and almost impossible to surprise.

Not completely, though. They present him with a gift certificate for a course of lessons at a tea house, which is unexpected. He knows who to blame for that bright idea, looking smugly at him down the table.

"Very clever, woman." He murmurs, under cover of grabbing a bit of cake.

"Van Pelt thought of it all by herself." She says, best demure expression. He's impressed.

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She frowns at the parcel on her desk. Plain white cardboard box. Nudges it open, but nothing jumps out. She peers in cautiously. Even the tissue paper looks expensive. Lifts a corner...

Puts the lid back on the box hurriedly.

Lisbon waits for a moment. Then she locks the door, checks the blinds and pulls the lid off the box again.

The most beautiful set of ivory silk...well, you could almost call them pyjamas, but they're certainly not intended for sleeping in. Massively inappropriate from a colleague.

"_I just fancied having an extra present to unwrap later." _says the card, familiar spiky handwriting.

She grins, and holds up the cami top against herself.

Perfect from a boyfriend, though.


	2. Chocolate

-Snow Patrol again...-

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Chocolate

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Van Pelt and Lisbon have both struggled internally, denied the siren song of the dessert cabinet, female solidarity. Cho has ordered apple-pie à la mode. Rigsby is torn between the apple-pie and the cheesecake. As to which one he's having first, essentially.

Jane has ordered something that is a reckless caloriefest, some unholy offering to the gods of heart attack. It's the sort of dessert that automatically comes with a second fork, when there's a woman at the table. He surreptitously nudges the fork up against Lisbon's hand, waits to see how long she can resist temptation.

About thirty seconds. Absent-mindedly, Lisbon picks up the fork...

Rigsby pauses, eyebrows raised, mouthful of cheesecake, looks at Cho. Cho shakes his head slightly, carries on with his own apple-pie. If they start feeding each other, he's leaving the table.

Van Pelt, who knows that even she would have to break Rigsby's fingers to get him to part with pudding, watches with vicarious greed. Double chocolate brownies. With chocolate chips. Still warm and gooey under their blanket of hot sauce and cream and...She makes a small whining sound.

Lisbon realizes that she has a mouthful of pure evil, and freezes. Jane smirks.

"Just eat the damn thing, woman. Save me from myself."

The man is the devil. No woman should have to deal with chocolate sauce, whipped cream _and_ Patrick Jane...

...Not in public, anyway.


	3. WakeUp Call

_A/N A self-indulgent tag to the last section of Ch.21 of 'Two Red Roses...' _

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Wake-Up Call

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"Oh, Lisbon?"

She opens one eye. It feels early. Very early. There is no coffee. There is, however, a presence. A male presence.

"Wha?..." Too early for coherence. She tries to focus on her clock. The male presence gets in the way, slides a leg under the quilt.

"Poker game ran on. Not enough of the night left to make it worth going back to my own bed for." She can sense a grin. "So I thought I'd come back to yours."

She squeaks crossly as the male presence insinuates itself quite definitely into her bed. A _chilly_ male presence. In her nice, warm bed. Disturbing her sleep.

"Cold..." she grumbles, one hand pushing ineffectually at a chest. He's not going away. Nose up under her ear.

"That's because I can't find my pyjama jacket."

"m wearing it." But she wraps herself around him, arms and legs together. "Sleep."

"You left the chain off the door again." he scolds softly into her hair.

"Couldn't get in otherwise." Mumbled against his collar-bone. "Idiot."

He looks down at the dark head, that has burrowed into the crook of his neck. Always a dangerous business, waking a sleeping Lisbon. But his own cold hotel bed had held no appeal for him. He would rather get in his car and drive across town. (Would rather throw in a good hand at poker and cheerfully endure the resulting good humoured mockery.) Glances at the clock. Even a half-awake Lisbon would smell a rat at only 1.15. Grins to himself, and closes his own eyes.

Later, when she is awake, he will scold her properly, how much it scares him to find the door opening like that. But that will be much later, after he has woken her up again. After he has retrieved his purloined jacket. After he makes waking her up an hour earlier than usual, oh, so very worth it.


	4. The Joy of Snacks

The Joy of Snacks

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"You really don't want to eat any of the stuff out of there."

Agent Palmer, newly transferred into the CBI, pauses in his quest.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because it's the SCU fridge." The other man says, as if it should be obvious.

"And?"

"Ah. Someone didn't send you the memo..." Props against the counter, "Now, you have a choice of containers, all labelled according to their owners. But," raised finger, "there are certain hazards involved. For example, Agent Cho. Always a chance of unexpected _kimchee. _Or worse, his mother's meatloaf. Ballistics have been known to use it for test-firing. Then, we have Agent Rigsby. Well, we have a whole shelf for Agent Rigsby. Big guy, big appetite. The possibility of reciprocal violence is very, very high here. You wouldn't go bothering a hungry grizzly, you don't touch Rigsby's meatball sub. Simple survival. Now, Agent Van Pelt...lovely girl, she would probably be happy to share. But...health-food. Carrot sticks, wheatgerm and hummus."

"What about...T.L?"

"That saying that good things come in small packages? So does C-4. You _don't_ want to take Senior Agent Lisbon's lunch. On a good day, she might just throw you into a wall. On a bad day, there's always...Jane."

Palmer freezes, gingerly removes his hand from the lid of the tupperware box. Unofficial CBI briefing has obviously been very, _very_ clear on certain matters. But the man continues anyway,

"Rigbsy would simply pull your arm off and hit you with it. Patrick Jane...well, do you want to end up in the parking lot in your underwear, having serenaded the lobby with a Broadway medley?"

"Seriously?"

"Oh, it could happen. Master hypnotist. He's utterly devoted to her, you know. And I'm sure you've heard the rumours about how...unstable he is." Judging by Palmer's expression, he has. "Nobody knows exactly what she does to him to keep him under control, though I've heard some pretty wild stories..." Shakes his head, leans in, "But whatever it is, _it works_. So I wouldn't risk it. Even for home-made lasagne."

Palmer, thoroughly demoralized, shuts the door and steps away from the fridge. Confronts the coffee-machine.

"Can I drink the coffee?"

"Sure." Magnanimous wave. "Though why you'd want to...caffeine is very bad for you."

"Which pot is the decaf?"

"Meh...mix 'em half and half, and drink twice as much." The man takes a sip from his tea-cup. "Who pointed you at the SCU fridge, anyway?"

"Kolinsky in Serial said there was usually some good stuff..." Shame-faced grin, "He didn't say it belonged to people."

"He wouldn't." The man's thoughtful expression brightens into a sudden wide smile. "I'm sure that someone will enlighten him."

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A low, unearthly wailing, as of a creature in deep distress, echoes through the hallway. Lisbon pauses, forkful of lasagne halfway to her mouth.

"Jane, is there any _particular_ reason why Kolinsky is belting out show-tunes today?"


End file.
